Page 53

I SAT WITH my feet up on the long, padded seats and frowned at the pad in front of me. The flowing Aldar text was confusing as hell, but I was making slow progress. I was just getting the hang of the way that turning the character at the start of a word meant it changed the tense of the word.

But it was impossible to concentrate. Finally, I sighed and dropped the pad onto my lap, giving up on my Aldarian lessons.

“Ok, I’ve had enough. What aren’t you telling me?”

Arcay paused in his hundredth limping lap around the room, and looked up at me innocently. He had been doing that for the last thirty minutes, and it didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon.

“I… It is nothing.” He gave me a weak smile and went right back to his pacing.

I watched him for a moment, frowning at his stiff movements.

I don’t know how long we were up on that walkway for, but eventually, over the sound of my crying, I’d heard voices below, and I’d called out for help. Everything happened quickly after that. They’d had to prise Arcay from my arms, and then lowered him from the walkway, dripping blood as he went. Everything after that was a blur of stern Aldar rushing around, bright lights, and probing instruments. Followed by a long, excruciating wait in a silent room, waiting for any news. And it had come, finally. Arcay was alive. I’d sunk to my knees at that point and started crying all over again, catching snippets of what the healers were telling me. Somehow, they’d brought him back from the brink of death. It turned out Aldar were practically indestructible. Which also meant Ulgar had managed to pull through too.

Either way, Arcay had survived and it was a fucking miracle. Just like our soul bond reforming. Neither of us knew how it had regrown on its own. Perhaps the chemical cocktail Ulgar created was unstable, or maybe it was some surge of hormones while Arcay lay dying in my arms that connected the frayed edges of our souls back together. I don’t know. Whatever it was I was, though, I was happy for it to remain a mystery.

A few days after we were re-bound, Arcay claimed, in his stern and earnest way, that it must have been the power of our true love. Which, of course, I mercilessly made fun of him for. It was a nice thought, but it was much more fun teasing him and seeing his stern scowl. That scowl, so familiar and so him , had reassured me that he was going to be ok. And it was entirely undermined by the fond amusement through the bond. For such a big, tough guy, he was a total softie.

Now, a month after the healers were finished with him, he still wasn’t up to his full strength. Even with their miracle goo and Arcay’s insane rate of recovery. He moved slower and his body was slimmer, less packed with toned muscle. He was littered with scars, healed but still tender and raised, and a faint blue against his purple skin. The previous night, I had brushed my fingers over them, feeling the rise and fall of the scars, and pressed my mouth to them as we’d shared a feeling of deep contentment. I smiled at the memory. He was getting there, every day was a step forward.

But this morning he was unsettled, edgy, nervous, though you wouldn’t be able to tell by just looking at him. His face was a mask of stern neutrality. I still couldn’t get over how he could keep his face like that while a war of emotions fought beneath the surface, and I felt honored to be able to see what no one else could.

“I’m serious. What’s wrong?” I asked.

He kept pacing and shook his head slightly.

“You can’t hide it from me. Just tell me,” I said.

He grumbled, a low growl in his chest. “I will,” he said. “I just…need to figure out how.”

I laid the pad down on the seat next to me. “Now I really want to know.”

He opened his mouth, but then shut it again and shook his head. It wasn’t like him to get so worked up. Angry, yeah. But not nervous, not twitchy. Whatever it was, it must be bad. And if he kept pacing around like that he was going to hurt himself. Maybe there was something I could do to help him calm down.

Now there was a thought. My mouth stretched into a playful smile and his head turned towards me, sensing the shift.

“If you’re not willing to tell me, I have ways of making you talk,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”

“Is that a challenge?” I said, rising.

He snorted, but I felt his rush of arousal.

I squared up to him, stopping him in his tracks, then put my hand on his chest and gently pushed him backward until the back of his legs met the cushions and he was forced to sit. I rested my hand on the back of the seat and leaned forward so I was in his face, caging him.

“Tell me what you’re hiding from me,” I hissed. I placed my other hand over his groin; he was already more than half hard, and he made a noise deep in his throat that had my heart racing. “Tell me. Or you’ll regret it,” I said, my voice low and threatening.

His golden eyes met mine, his pupils blown wide. “Never,” he growled back.

“Then I will have to take matters into my own hands.” I moved my hand as I spoke, trailing it up and down.

“Do your worst huma—ah—” he gasped as I closed my fingers around him and squeezed, just enough to get his attention, but not too much. I tested my grip as his growing pleasure pulsed through me, adjusting my hold accordingly. A little tighter, tighter. I swallowed thickly as his arousal made my head spin. There , just right. He gasped again, going rigid, and I stiffened too in response.

“Tell me your secret. Or I’ll force you to.”

“I…will…never…ugh.”

Keeping my grip tight, I pumped up and down, stroking his length through his clothes. I dragged my other hand across his jaw, forcing his head back, and rubbed at the corner of his mouth with my thumb. His lips parted.

“Still fighting?”

I let go of his dick long enough to pull his clothes aside and release him. The honey-like slick glistened along his shaft, and I took hold of it again, licking at his head.

His dick was way too big to fit into my mouth, so I mouthed the end of it while I stroked him, each one sending pleasure rippling through the bond. I adored sharing his pleasure.

When I looked up again, a deep flush darkened his skin and all pretense of playful resistance was gone. He was watching me with eyes full of surrender, head tilted back, exposing his whole throat to me, his scars glistening in the light. He was so beautiful.

Despite my teasing, I was careful. He still wasn’t fully healed and I didn’t want to hurt him, so I touched him with firm but gentle hands. I lapped and mouthed the head of his cock, keeping him still while slowly and gradually building him up until he was at the very edge. I kept him there, easing up when the pleasure wavered in that way that meant he was about to climax, until his hips started to buck helplessly. Then I swallowed him down as far as I could. With a gasp and a roll of his hips, he came, his head thrown back on the seat and his hands gripping the chair so hard he made tears in it.

When he was finished, I pulled off, and he melted into the chair, his body entirely relaxed. All tension and worry had left him, nothing but bliss coming through the bond.

I slumped down beside him and bathed in the shared afterglow. I’d never get over how fucking great this bond was.

“Better?” I asked.

He rolled over on top of me, crushing me against the seat as he pressed his lips against mine in a lazy kiss.

“Yes.”

“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

He paused and the worry came back, but not as strong this time. He rolled off and sat for a moment, locking eyes with me.

Then he got to his feet and limped out of the room.

“Hey.” I was about to go after him when he reentered, carrying something in his hand. It was small, wrapped up in a parcel of soft, white material. He hesitated for a second, before he held it out to me and waited for me to take it. I looked at it before meeting his eyes again, confused.

His visible hesitation was putting me on edge and I was completely lost now. I’d expected him to tell me some bad news. Something about Jursin, or his injuries, not give me a tiny parcel. What the hell was happening? Now I was starting to get really nervous.

“What is it?” I asked. In any other situation, I would have thought he was about to break up with me. But that was impossible so…what?

“I have been thinking a lot recently. About our relationship.” I gulped. Never a good sign. “And I realized that we have followed my people’s traditions—somewhat, although not entirely.”

“Right. We had a bumpy start, but if that’s a problem we can always—”

“It is not the problem. The problem is that we have, however loosely, followed my cultural traditions, but not yours.” His voice was so earnest and hesitant. So vulnerable. “So I thought…”

My chest tightened. I carefully pulled the folds of fabric away, one at a time, to reveal the object inside.

It was a ring.

It was formed of several strands of intricately entwined gold, like live vines. I stared at it as he cleared his throat nervously and went on.

“I had it made. I thought we could do your human tradition too.”

The ring glinted as I picked it up with my other hand. A wedding ring.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” I said. My voice came out more incredulous than I intended.

He wanted to marry me. That was why he’d been nervous all morning. This seven-foot Aldar warrior god.

He was watching me intently, worry radiating off him.

“Did I get it right? That is how humans do it, is it not? You said before that humans get married, and exchange rings as a promise. I looked it up in the information archives we have on your culture and I think I got the design right?” He trailed off, waiting for me to say something. Anything.

I looked up at him. He was chewing his lip. Jesus, I’d never seen him chew on his lip before. I tried to speak, but my throat felt all tight.

His worry ratcheted up. Disappointment inched through the bond. “It is just a foolish idea. I am sorry, it does not matter. I know you said you never wanted to get married, I just thought that—I did not want you to feel that I was not interested in your culture too. And I did not know how official you wanted to be with all of this. I can get rid of it—” He reached forward to take the ring from my fingers and I closed my hand around it.

“Ok,” I said.

He froze, his arm hovering between us. “Ok?” he echoed.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get married.” I realized how stupid it was to be afraid. It was just a word.

Arcay was still watching me intently, his hand still hovering to pluck the ring away as if I might change my mind. “Are you sure? You do not have to if you do not want to.”

I laughed. “Arcay, we’re soul bound. How could I be scared of marriage now? It’s child’s play compared to this.” I held up the ring.

Finally, a wide smile spread across his face and glowing happiness filled me, making me giddy. I didn’t know if it was his or mine. It didn’t matter, there was no difference.

“So this is why you’ve been worried all morning?” I said. “You thought I’d say no to marrying you, when our souls are already literally bound together?”

“I have found that around you, my heart is not always logical.”

We kissed. It was long and slow and filled with everything we wanted to say but couldn’t put into words.

Afterwards, he slipped the ring on and it sat snug on my finger. A perfect fit. I held it up and looked at it. It felt strange, but I was sure I’d get used to it. I’d gotten used to much, much stranger things already. I’d been kidnapped twice, fallen in love with a person from a species I never even knew existed, and rescued the love of my life. How hard could this be?

A thought occurred to me. “Just because we’re getting married, it doesn’t mean I’m going to start ironing your socks.”

“I do not know what that is,” Arcay said.

I smiled and leaned in to continue the kiss. “Perfect.”